Torrid
by MLP
Summary: Kendall won't shut up until she gets her say


Torrid

I was so fucking _bored._

With Cormack gone, I had to come up with a Plan B. I know my strengths and I know my marks' weaknesses. It's not that big a deal; they all have the same weakness and by Divine Providence, it plays right into my strengths.

I can't tell you how many times I've thanked God that I was born a smoking hot woman instead of a dim witted man, doomed to think with my little head.

It's a man's world, is it?

Only someone who's brain is marinating in testosterone could be stupid enough to believe that load of crap.

A man's world? _It's my world._

Everyone else just lives in it.

Plan B was to retire on Easy Street and all I had to do was beguile Big Dick Casablancas.

Easiest job I ever pulled.

I didn't think of it as a job while I was setting it up, of course. With my partner away for who knows how many years, I had to make a living. Waiting tables was out and breaking in a new partner was too much work so I did what was second nature. It was just a backup plan ala Lorelei Lee. Gentlemen may prefer blonds but who the hell prefers gentlemen? I went big game hunting and bagged me a rich husband.

So he came with two stupid kids attached. Could have been worse. He could've had pugs. Dick and Beaver could be shipped off to college in a couple of years. Pugs live_ forever._

And at least they're boys. I know better than to target a man with daughters. There are two things wrong with girls; either they'd see through me and hate me or they wouldn't see through me and they'd idolize me. I can't decide which would be worse; daily battle with the daughters or some skinny, flat chested girl with bad skin and worse hair pestering me for fashion advice and a makeover? Ugh. No.

boys are actually kind of fun; I can torture them without anyone knowing it, not even them.

Hell, especially not them.

Teenage boys just might be the easiest marks on the planet. I can usually get them to do whatever I want with a look. The tougher nuts take a smile and the hard cases? Well, that's what cleavage is for.

Little Dick probably thinks he got lucky when my bikini top slipped a tad too far as I climbed out of the pool. The truth is, I just felt like sending him to his room. Idiot.

Beaver wasn't quite as easy. Big Dick thought the creepy little loser was gay but I don't. Fags love me. I think there was something else going on there. He reminded me of someone but I can't quite put my finger on it. The good news was he didn't seem to want to have any more to do with me than I did with him, until he came up with a plan for our mutual benefit. Ha. Kid was really no smarter than his Dad. That's probably why he jumped off the roof.

Or maybe he was just bored.

Jumping off the roof is no answer to your problems, kid. It's just an admission that you can't handle it.

I can handle anything.

I thought I'd hit the jackpot; living the life I'd always wanted, leading the Casablancas boys around by their gonads and having everything I'd ever need within my grasp. I thought I could relax and have fun.

The rich are very good at having fun. Everything is about the money and sex. I thought the Fitzpatricks were debauched but compared to what the very rich can buy, those Irish bad boys are merely kinky.

Until I married Big Dick, I'd never seen such epicurean orgies. White slavers don't deal in sex with the frequency or ferocity of the upper crust in Neptune. Everything is crusty, if you know what I mean.

Even the esthetician who came to the house every week to keep me slick as a whistle specialized in happy endings. Nothing like a spit shine on a newly waxed floor, if you know what I mean. She was very good at her job. Big Dick could learn something.

Big Dick? Limp Dick is more like it.

Oh, he likes having me on his arm at al lof his coma-inducing social functions. He loves the fact that his entire social set wants to bang his hot wife. He enjoys groping me in the back of the limo and crawling all over me but the man is good for about three minutes, tops. I thought a wheeler dealer like him would have some stamina but it turns out he's more a 'get the job done quick' kinda guy. I've told him that efficiency in all things is not a virtue. He disagreed.

It's not like I thought we were going to be some big, passionate love affair or anything. I knew better than that. I just thought it would be more fun. I thought the money would be more fun.

I thought all of it would be more fun.

I never imagined that once you got it all, life just became one long, pointless circle jerk.

But I did learn something very important about myself.

Turns out I actually have a work ethic. Who knew?

I'd always assumed I became a grifter because it was easier than getting a job. I thought the objective was the money. It took less than three months in the lap of luxury, with everything I could ever want at my expensively manicured fingertips to come to a better understanding of myself; I _love the hunt._

I love the challenge of planning the job, the danger of going in, taking on a role, the adrenaline rush I get from the successful execution of my part and taking whatever and whomever I choose. I live for the sting and the escape.

Lying in bed one night, on 1000 thread count fine Egyptian cotton sheets in my multimillion dollar mansion with Big Dick snoring next to me; I realized I'd spent happier nights bunked in Cormack's back seat when the morning meant reeling in a big fish. I had an epiphany.

The money was never the objective; it was just a way of keeping score.

This life held no challenges. No excitement. No danger.

I appreciated Big Dick letting me be the bagman for his less savory deals. I enjoyed my little meetings with the county assessor. I did spend one very amusing afternoon with Mr. Montana but he was too chicken shit terrified of Big Dick to make it our routine. the rest of it was all so white collar and antiseptic that it soon lost its charm. It just seemed so _legitimate!_

Even my floor polisher was on the up and up; not only did Big Dick hire her, sometimes he came home from the office to watch her work. Super kinky.

That's right; my asshole husband outsourced his foreplay.

When even your three-ways become routine, it's time to take drastic measures.

So, one dull afternoon while sitting on my perfect, perky ass at home, all alone, _again, _it hit me; the accomodations were better but I was in a prison just as stifling as the one that held Cormack. Somehow, I had to escape without giving up everything I'd worked for.

I made up my mind I was going to ride the next man I saw like he was the last plane out of Saigon.

The fact that the next man I saw happened to be young Mr. Logan Echolls is just further proof that God is good.

And I am His favorite.

* * *

Imagine starving to death on a desert island, scouring the beach for even the carcass of a dead fish to chew on and instead of finding a plate of rotten sushi, discovering filet mignon with a side of chocolate mousse. That's how I felt.

There I was, prepared to jump the yard man; a pock marked, middle aged Mexican who smelled like gasoline and paprika, when I pulled that door open and saw the drooling idiot best friend of my drooling idiot step sons.

The first thing I noticed about him was that his eyes were the same color as the topaz earrings Big Dick had given me for Valentine's Day.

Turns out, he wasn't as big an idiot as little Dick. I didn't have to explain anything to him; he understood what was going on the instant I strutted out onto the pool deck. Hell, now that I know him better, he probably expected it from the moment I told him he could wait out there for the boys to get home. If he was surprised when I showed up in my itsy bitsy bikini and four inch fuck-me pumps, he was over it by the time i swung my leg across his lounge and straddled his lap, which rose to meet me halfway.

Most teenage boys carry a condom in the wallet to impress their friends and _you know; _just in case lightening strikes.

Logan Echolls carries condoms like the rest of us carry credit cards.

He was the perfect playmate.

He was strong, fearless and took direction very well. The exact same traits that had made his father extremely successful.

He enthusiastically joined in every lurid fantasy I could think up for us.

His sense of timing was uncanny. Not only did he manage to show up whenever I had an hour to myself, he seemed to know just how much was enough; he never became a pest.

You'd think that by taking a teenaged lover, I'd be running the risk of winding up with a besotted, starry eyed youngster, convincing himself we were some great love story and making a real pain in the ass of himself. I was ready to nip it in the bud the second he showed symptoms of becoming smitten but it never happened. I've never laid a less romantic guy.

I loved that about him.

I never expected it to last so long. When I started it, I wasn't looking for a lover, just a distraction. I had no intention of carrying on with a high school kid all year. If it had been anyone else, I'd have messed with his head after the one time; pretending to his face that it had never happened while watching hope for a replay eat him alive.

That didn't work with Logan. He _laughed _at me. Men don't laugh at me. Ever.

_Damn, _that turned me on.

Plus, the kid had other qualities that are strangely lacking in people these days; intellectual curiosity being one. The boy was more than willing to learn and his appetite for carnal knowledge was insatiable. To tell you the truth, unless he brought it up, I forgot he was a juvenile. Naked, there was nothing minor about Logan Echolls.

I also hadn't laughed so much during sex since Cormack got sent up.

Risky behavior is as much a part of Logan's nature as my own; we'd do it in the living room when we knew the boys could show up at any time; he booked us a room at the Neptune Grand where we did it while I was attending a function downstairs with Big Dick. Ugh. Those stupid Realtor's banquets. So boring I would have drowned myself in the punch bowl if I hadn't known my Boy Toy was waiting to entertain me upstairs.

Something else I found extremely attractive about Logan was that he saw right through me. He had no illusions whatsoever about what I was or what we were doing. With that particular game off the table, we were free to concentrate on more athletic pursuits.

And it turned me on when he treated me like a whore.

What can I say? When you've had men falling into your lap like ripe plums since you were twelve, the guys who get your attention are the ones who present a challenge.

I love Cormack because he treats me like a person instead of Aphrodite in the flesh.

Logan made me feel like a person, too.

I could be myself with him. My nasty, dirty, kinky, wicked self. In fact, since I knew that our liaison would be short lived, I tried things with Logan I'd never do with Cormack. Logan already thought I was a skank so I had nothing to lose. It was very liberating.

It wasn't until Big Dick took off and the accounts tied up that it occurred to me that there was something else going on with Logan. I needed money and did what I always do; tried to fleece the nearest man.

It should have been a breeze. A teenager living all alone in a multimillion dollar mansion? I should've been able to pluck that pigeon to the bone.

And he slammed the door on me.

What the FUCK?

The worse he treated me, the more it turned me on.

Yeah, that's a little twisted. That surprises you?

It surprised me. Not that I responded to that sort of treatment but that it would be coming from a wet behind the ears kid. Where in the world did he get the resolve to withstand _me?_

I ferreted out his little secret.

My first hint was his reaction to my intercepting that mysterious call from 'Veronica'. I paid close attention after that. His response to a snarky comment about his roommate's girlfriend had my antennae up and a little more prodding told me all I needed to know; _my boy toy was in love._

Couldn't you just die?

He was carrying a massive torch for the Sheriff's daughter, who not only couldn't stand him but was busy knocking boots with his best friend!

How hilarious is that?

Believe me when I say I exploited that tidbit to my advantage.

I teased the hell out of him.

Angry sex is fantastic!

Then, when I tried once again to get my hand in his pocket, he tossed me out of bed and told me to try his buddy on for size.

No man has ever spoken like that to me, much less told me to try the guy next door! And to hear that bullshit coming from this _child, _who didn't even know how to...

Well, there were a lot of things he didn't know until I TAUGHT HIM.

He called me 'Bessie'. As in 'the cow'.

I was humiliated.

I've never been so hot for anyone in my life.

But I wasn't about to let that arrogant little asshole know it.

So I took him at his word and went next door.

Duncan Kane was as malleable as melted chocolate but no amount of money could make him as good as his jackass of a best friend. Besides, he was also 'in love' with Veronica Mars. And it turned out he had a baby on the way. Yuck, yuck and double yuck.

So I went looking for greener pastures but I did keep having sex with Logan...and then I went too far, said something really catty about his best friend's girl. He stopped coming over or taking my calls. At first, I just shrugged it off; last thing I was interested in was some pouty little schoolboy, mooning over another girl.

Then I thought: _no way. _No one dumps me. Especially not a kid who isn't even old enough to buy me a drink! What did that little shit think he was?

I let him know it wasn't over until _I _say it's over by accosting him in the lobby of the Neptune Grand and blowing his...mind...in the men's room.

I was doing him a favor. I'm pretty sure he wasn't thinking about _Veronica Mars _while he was with me.

We were hot and heavy for a while after that.

It was a tough year. Money was ridiculously tight until Beaver hired me to put a grown up face on his little enterprise. Kid had the brains to invest his money well but was stupid enough to put it all in my name. My name; my money, kid.

Maybe that's why he jumped off the roof.

Whatever.

Things were coming up roses for me by spring.

Yeah, Logan finally dumped me for real. There's a first time for everything, right? But at least I had the satisfaction of rubbing little Veronica's face in our relationship before he kicked me to the curb. Of all the good memories I took from our sordid little affair, I think my favorite is the look on that cunt's face when I slid up behind Logan that morning and went into my 'back off, bitch' routine.

Good times.

By then, I'd already earned a hefty paycheck from his Dad, who was acquitted shortly thereafter and ready to move right into his son's still warm side of the bed. Not the first time, I hear. I didn't tell Aaron about my romp with his son but I don't think he'd have minded.

I might have been miffed by Aaron eating a bullet but I had other things on my mind: Cormack was getting out!

And when Beaver jumped off the roof, he left me eight million dollars richer!

God is good and I am His favorite!

All I needed was to get the money out of town before Liam could make trouble.

I was so giddy, with my briefcase full of treasure, looking forward to seeing Cormack, knowing that if anyone could get me safely past Liam it was Keith Mars that I didn't even begrudge those two sappy kids their happy ending when I ran into them _smooching _in the hall outside Keith's office.

Logan never kissed me like that.

Hey, if my boy toy is stupid enough to want Veronica Mars, I say he _deserves her._

Cormack is on his way.

I _always _get what I deserve.


End file.
